Manners Are Her Mission Judith Martin Grants An Interview, Politey

December 29, 1989|By Barbara Sullivan, Chicago Tribune

Oh, Gentle Readers, what does one do when Miss*Manners*keeps one waiting in the hotel lobby for an appointment? When one arrives punctually for that appointment, but then is left tapping one's fingers, literally, as the minutes tick past the agreed-upon time?

Does one mention it when finally face to face with Miss*Manners?*Or does one just say ''tsk, tsk'' under one's breath and otherwise ignore the missed moments? What is the correct procedure? Heaven knows, one wants to be polite. Civilized.

Miss*Manners*knows what to do.

She opens the door of her hotel room, immediately extends a small hand

for a firm handshake and forthrightly apologizes.

Something was wrong with the telephone in her room, she says calmly, with just the right hint of concern in her voice. The call announcing that her appointment was waiting in the lobby hadn't gotten through. ''I am very sorry.''

With the hint of rudeness thus gently dispelled, it's time to sit down and find out what Miss*Manners*is all about. What type of woman is this who so deftly defines etiquette and politeness for today's tumultuous times? And does so with a subtly sharp wit that slides through her paragraphs as smoothly as a stiletto.

Her real name is*Judith*Martin,*but good heavens, she doesn't look like a Judy. She looks like-she is-Miss*Manners,*with her hair swept up in a hair style that has been described as a*Gibson*Girl*sweep and her ankles demurely crossed (''Females who are not ladies cross their knees. Ladies cross their ankles, keeping the knees together,'' she advises) as she sits, poised for questions.

Although she has not always been Miss*Manners-Judith*Martin*went to work for the Washington Post in the early 1960s and has run the gamut from covering diplomatic parties to serving as film and drama critic-it is difficult to picture her any other way.

Part of it is that swept-up hair.

''I've worn it in two styles in my life,'' she says. ''I had two long braids down my back until I was 12. Then I started putting it up. I've put it up ever since. Some people call it a*Gibson*Girl*style. I just call it 'putting it up.' ''

She's in town to talk about her new book, ''Miss*Manners'*Guide for the Turn-of-the-Millennium'' (Pharos Books, $24.95), a tome of almost 750 pages.

That's not overly long, however, when one considers that Miss*Manners'*mission is to have the world learn its*manners*by 2001. It's a tough job, but she figures she has to do it.

''She is counting on you to learn all this so we can have a nice, fresh, polite millennium,'' she says in the book's preface, referring to herself, as always, in the third person. ''As much fun as she has been having with the last millennium, she would like daily life in the next one to be just a shade more civilized.''

She is sitting very straight on the sofa in the hotel suite (ankles crossed), the skirt of her dark-rose suit demurely reaching midcalf, silver necklace nicely matching silver earrings, and the conversation edges into the subject of children. She has two, 23 and 19 years old, which means she and her husband of 30 years have lived through the teen years. Living through those

years sometimes brings out the-well, people, even civilized people, are not always polite to each other during those pubescent times. Family voices have been known to be occasionally raised. How civilized was her experience?

''My children did not go through a stage of being rude to their parents,'' she says.

''I'm sorry if that sounds incredible,'' she says in the ensuing silence.

''But we just did not have that. The greater the controversy, the more you need*manners.*Being polite does not mean being mummified. When we have controversies, we settle them politely.''

Such as, back in the Nixon years, before the Miss*Manners*years, when she once politely described Tricia Nixon as dressing like an ice cream cone. It triggered a polite controversy: the Nixons said they didn't feel comfortable with that description, and subseqently refused to give her press credentials to attend Tricia's wedding. The Post refused to send anyone to cover the wedding.

She wasn't being rude; she was offering a journalistic description, and ''I think the Nixons didn't understand what it meant, dealing with a reputable paper.''

Miss*Manners*emerged like Minerva, virtually full-blown from*Judith* *Martin's*head, in the late 1970s.

She told her editor at the Post that she wanted to write another column.

He asked her what kind of column, and she said an etiquette column. ''He said, 'Oh, no.' I said, 'Let me show you a sample.' ''

The sample was Miss*Manners,*basically exactly as it is today. Etiquette problems of the world have changed, and Miss*Manners*changes with the times, but the style remains the same. People sometimes wonder if she rewrites the letters she receives, because they are all so civilized. The problems might be off the wall, but they're worded so nicely.